Last night, or really, this morning, was not fun. I woke up at 2am to fairly bad pain in my abdomen, just below the rib cage. The pain persisted until about 5:20, making it impossible to get back to sleep. I'm planning, much to my displeasure, to make an appointment with a doctor and see about getting it checked out. This isn't the first time that this has happened, so I figure it's something that has to be looked at.
I have no real desire to do so, mind you. I hate doctors, hospitals, and pretty much anything related to the medical profession as it applies to living, breathing human beings. Medical examiners are cool, and the anatomy of the human body is fascinating, but hospitals make me anxious. Also, the last time I was at a hospital, it was because Mom was there because of a scare with Little Bird and the chapel was closed! Who closes a chapel in a hospital? I mean, ok, so maybe the good priest can't be there all the time, need to get a little sleep himself, but seriously?
I ended up leaning against a wall in a hallway, praying for my family, and that I'd remain undisturbed while falling apart. I don't do well when family members are in danger. I actually scared the living daylights out of the poor fellow I asked about the hours for the chapel. He thought someone had died! I mean, I'm sure someone had, but not any of my someones.
I digress. Point is, I'm not a fan of hospitals. At. ALL.
I fixed my poor teddy bear before bed last night. After 20 yrs of dedicated service, my beloved Teddy (yes, his name is Teddy) has begun to show his age. I'd send him to a stuffed animal doctor, but I don't trust people. And this is a highly important member of the Ursa Fluffus family! He's been there through illness, through injuries, through moves, through new family members, through funerals, he's even talked me out of running away! (I was and continue to be a weird kid.) And yes, I do still snuggle with my teddy bear at night!
Anyway, tomorrow I'm going to morning mass for the Feast of the Assumption, and then taking my truck in to get the front end alignment fixed. After that, I'm cleaning the house. I'm hoping I'll get the chance to make a short trip down to St. Augustine Saturday. There's a mission there I'd like to see for Nuestra Señora de La Leche y Buen Parto (Our Lady of Milk and Happy Delivery). Maybe she'll accept prayers from a concerned older sister.
It'd also be a good chance to get some great photos. Last time I went, I didn't take any pictures. Well, okay, I took a few, but since I was there to see a friend, they weren't really pictures of St. Augustine.
My mother tends to be the shutter happy one, a fact which induced misery as a child (and I count that all the way up to the present day and beyond, truthfully. As long as I'm her child) but I enjoy taking pictures as well. I'm usually content with a simple digital camera, while my mom like the bulky professional models. Of course, I've never stopped loving the old Polaroids that spit the picture out and develop it in 10 seconds. Those cameras, and their film, should always be available to the public.
I think my writing highlights a problem I have with life very well. I'll be 22 at the end of this month....and I still feel like a kid. I have a job, responsibilities, bills...and I still feel like a kid. Nobody tells you that being a 20-something is terrifying because you're expected to "be an adult" and you barely even feel like a teenager most of the time, let alone an adult. But then I wonder if that's just what adulthood is? A bunch of people who still feel like kids, but they have a little more experience in life, and so humanity fumbles along.
Except for that weirdo who literally never smiles. Like, they are the human personification of dour, imposing old buildings, that call to mind horror stories of Nuns with rulers and pinched faces, who you can literally never imagine as children because they are made out of stone!
I don't mean the Eeyore people. The gloomy people who are really good, and sweet, and want to help, but just can't help but be a Marshwiggle and sigh. You know, those people are actually really nice, because they're love little things. Eeyore was thrilled (in his own way) to receive a popped balloon and an empty jar from his friends, even if it wasn't what they'd meant to give him, because they'd tried really hard, and they did it because they loved him.
Nor do I mean the people like Rabbit, who grouse about boisterous people, who like the quiet, who like their work, and would rather not be interrupted when they're working because it's important. They can be very generous, and really do love their friends, even if they don't always want to be around them. They're a bit fussy, and a bit stuck-up some times, but they don't mean any harm.
I mean the people who are just the human personification of stoic, and that's their entire personality. Stoic, mature, reserved. These aren't bad traits, but in this sort of person, they're stifling!
Meanwhile, I'm over here as something of a cross between all the Hundred Acre Woods' beloved inhabitants. But Piglet and Eeyore are still my favorites. I'm sure that says something about my personality (paging: Dr. Freud?) but I'm not going to look to deeply into it.
Anyway, that's all for now! I'm going to get something to eat.
Yours always,
Tara
